Tomorrow's my birthday. I'm gonna sit at home alone and read the Odyssey. I'm going to pretend it's not even my birthday. I'm going to go about my day doing everything as normal as I possibly can, without talking to anyone.
I mean, come on. It's not like it's rocket science to even bake me a fucking cupcake. I work myself to death to make other people happy, and they can't even figure out or try to make me happy. The only people who even bother aren't even people who are big contributors in my life. What does that say that the people I care about don't even give enough of a damn to try and make me happy on my own fucking birthday?
I just wanted a fucking homemade cupcake. Go screw yourselves. Consider all of our friendships terminated.
I just want to go hang out with people I hardly know, have someone actually tell me I'm pretty for once and not sound like they're getting paid to say it, to enjoy myself, to do what I want, when I want to, to eat what I want, to say what I want, to get what I want. I realize that's all pretty extreme. But then again it's my birthday. Maybe the universe will humor me and at least allow me to enjoy myself this once.
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